


The Happy Bundle

by gyromitra



Series: Drabble Things that might be continued or not [6]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Crack, Drabble Collection, Humor, M/M, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-04-19 18:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 6,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14242884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gyromitra/pseuds/gyromitra
Summary: A collection of supposedly funny drabbles based on prompts, one-shots, or short gags that won't fit into the main storylines of other works. Each 'chapter' will be described and additional pairings may be added.The quality may vary.Drabble 10: Problems with demons - R76





	1. Angels and Demons AU - R76

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: You’re a demon, being summoned for the first time- only your summoner isn’t a human, but an angel, in desperate need of your help.
> 
> http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/172668812240/youre-a-demon-being-summoned-for-the-first-time

It was on his third round of bar hopping that Jack felt the telltale tug for the first time in his life. By the Furies, the person doing the summoning had to be really desperate to get that far into ye olde proverbial demonic phonebook, and then land on the name of a long-dead King of Hell. Gruesomely dead, he might even add, he had put a lot of work into it.

Jack downed his drink, left the tip under the glass, and made a slightly wobbly beeline for the lavatory. Thankfully, the summoning gave him some leeway in terms of time – so inside he made himself more presentable with a flick of his finger – and planned.

Well, for starters, he was going to explain they made a typo. Happens all the time. Really. Especially with languages not intended for human consumption, ever.

Yep, typo, he was just some low ranking whatever, not the Great Hulking Dragon Who Watches of Unpronounceable Whatever, and who the fuck came up with those names anyway? He always kind of suspected angels had done it as some kind of juvenile prank, would be like them to invade some mortal’s dreams and make up ridiculous shit, because ‘immaculate conception’ was not even in the middle of the list, the horny bastards.

And speaking of horns, he checked his reflection – those were actually nice and he might keep them for later – and then let the summoning work.

The first thing Jack noticed was the fact he had definitely overdone the smoke thing, but only after he broke out into a fit of coughing and started frantically waving his hands around.

The second thing he noticed was the summoning circle, considerably minimalistic and actually done by someone who knew what they were doing. The calligraphy was a nice touch too. …That vague insult scribbled in the corner was not, on the other hand.

The next thing was an uncanny sense of déjà vu and familiarity as he squinted around with his watering eyes. Goddamn allergies, he had forgotten about those.

And lastly, but most importantly, Jack froze in mid-motion when a cold touch of angelic presence finally caught his attention. His face scrunched in scandalized confusion as he stared at the figure impatiently tapping its foot.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” The former King of Hell screeched.

Gabriel, former Angel of Death (mortally wounded while heroically slaying the Great Hulking Dragon Who Watches of Unpronounceable Whatever), otherwise known as Reaper now, pointed his thumb towards the kitchen.

“Do the fucking dishes. It’s your turn tonight,” he gave Jack a once-over. “And keep the horns,” he added as an afterthought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An AU where the demon has a drinking problem, the angel is emotionally constipated, the somehow adopted incubus has non-stop romantic drama on their couch, and the somehow adopted nephilim has a self-appointed quest to defeat a king of hell.


	2. The Edgiest Fairytale One-Shot - R76

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wyverns. Enough said.

There were, undeniably, events in one’s life that put everything in perspective, and Jack wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment. For example, Gabriel still had not figured out Jack had no sister, which baffled the blonde to no end because his companion was usually the brighter one. How could one be an academic and still remain oblivious to the obvious? On the other hand, he was, for now, off the hook about the Toad Incident. Not to say that Gabriel had not deserved the amphibian-to-face treatment sometimes.

Yes, it was sometimes good to just stop, take a step back,  and ponder the mysteries of the universe, and Jack’s moment was now and here because he was trapped under a lizard the size of a war stallion. Red Menace, purring all the time, adjusted, and the bed creaked accordingly.

“Get off.” The wyvern licked his face. “Gabe! Call off your fucking wyvern!”

“He’s not my wyvern, he’s a traitorous mongrel I’m going to strip down for parts!” Came from the kitchen. Red Menace started to nibble on Jack’s hair. He was in for a long haul, it seemed, and, goddamit, he really had to pee.

*

Jack could deal with Ripper being happy to see him. It was in the dog’s nature, even if the dog in question was actually a hellhound, some scratches and maybe a leg off a chicken were enough to deal with it. One could not simply deal with an almost adult wyvern happy to welcome them back after few days of absence.

“Oh, no, you don’t! No,” the blonde hollered at Leg Humper running full speed at him, tongue lolling out of its maw. “No, stop, sto…” Getting bodychecked by an overly excitable lizard hurt, and so did getting slammed into the ground. The things you suffer for love. Jack patted the side of the wyvern’s head. “Okay, okay, please get off.”

An unfortunate wording because Leg Humper was at his thing again. An insult to injury.

*

In contrast to the name, Little Mean Fucker was a girl. That didn’t mean shit. At the moment she was holding Jack’s forearm between her jaws.

“Let go.” The blonde stared into lizard eyes and the lizard stared unblinkingly back. The wyvern lightly decreased the pressure, but as soon as Jack even thought about removing his hand, the teeth again sunk into his skin. Jack sighed and then just continued walking, leading Little Mean Fucker with him, no matter that she sometimes tugged ‘playfully’ back. “Gabe…”

“Don’t be melodramatic,” the other teen rolled his eyes, turning around with a swish of his coat with a deliberate theatrical flourish. “She likes you even if it remains an inscrutable mystery to me why, you are as abhorrent character as ever.”

Jack squinted at him.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“And let it not be left unsaid you are a definition of a daft oaf and why I put up with you eludes me,” Gabriel leaned in and kissed him lightly. Little Mean Fucker started to chew.


	3. Awkward Doesn't Cut It One-shot - R76, McHanzo, Symmbra Suggestion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Parents. I do wonder who's the sociopath.

So, Christmas is coming close, in a few days, and kids are coming home for a break from their classes at uni. Sombra was even nice enough to call beforehand and warn them to expect one additional guest but kept mum on who that would be.

Gabriel avoids the kitchen – definitely safer that way – because when Jack cooks, the kitchen’s a battlefield, and collateral damage is to be expected to happen to anyone that wanders by. Gabriel still has no idea how one could have managed to embed a wooden spoon in the ceiling, halfway through, but it did happen, and he still has pictures to prove it. Supposedly, because the pressure cooker exploded, but he has his justified doubts.

“Mhm, smells good, dad’s cooking?” Sombra calls from the living room and Gabriel can only shake his head in disapproval.

“You picked the lock again?”

“Of course I did, the locks on campus are shit, and this one’s at least challenging,” she waves from the doorway. “Oh, and Jesse brought his boyfriend, by which I mean, his older boyfriend.”

“You’re spoiling the surprise,” Jesse whines when Sombra steps to the side to let him through with the bags, and that other person too. A person that seems suspiciously familiar and…

“Oh, good, you’re here, the dinner’s almost ready…”

Sombra kicks the door closed with her heel and has the phone out in an instant. Everything happens simultaneously.

Who the boyfriend is clicks for Gabriel at this exact moment. Early enough that he has a chance to try and wrestle the gun from Jack, he has the element of surprise on his side after all.

Hanzo almost knocks himself out when he tries to jump back through the closed door in a panic.

Jesse drops the bags, bewildered. Sombra is just laughing and recording everything.

Gabriel has his knee in Jack’s back and Jack is swearing loud – which speaks volumes.

Hanzo hides behind Jesse.

“What the heck is going on!?”

“That, ‘Joel’,” Sombra rolls her eyes, “is why you’re open about all the shit in your private life with your significant other or you don’t bring them to meet your family!”

“You told me your parents were a teacher and a designer!” Hanzo hisses.

“They are…?”

“Well, he forgot to mention that, besides their ‘day jobs’, dad’s known formerly as Strike Commander, and Gabe’s Reaper.”

“That’s not quirky, one of them’s a sociopath!” Hanzo digs his nails into Jesse’s sides.

“And you,” Sombra shoots Hanzo ‘The Look’ – The Look is a mix of deep disdain and ‘I told you so, you imbecile’ crossed with a Resting Bitch Face that alone proves she is her father’s daughter, “forgot to mention you’re a runaway Shimada-gumi assassin and, as it so happens, next in line for leadership, same as your brother. Oh, and you almost killed Gabe.”

“But he’s majoring in Medieval Literature!” Jesse protests.

“Two words, bro. Joel High-Noon.”

“Bro. Hackerbelle,” Jesse shoots back.

Meanwhile, Jack stopped flailing and just lies resigned on the floor, but Gabriel knows him too well, and the knee stays where it is for the time being.

“Are you going to behave?”

“I promise nothing!” Gabriel sighs.

“The knives.”

“…none.”

“You want me to frisk you right now, Morrison?” Gabriel asks after a pause.

“…right shin and left arm,” Jack finally admits.

“And the third one?”

“…left hip.” Gabriel sets up to relieving him of those. “I’m still going to kill him.”

“No, you won’t, not until we hear the full story.”

“Oh, I can listen to ‘that’ story, and then I am still killing him.”

Truth be told, Gabriel does feel flattered because Jack harbors his grudges forever – but only about things he cares for – and those things are few and far between.

“So, you’re going to be good?”

“…maybe,” Jack answers with considerable delay and Gabriel knows it’s as good as it gets so he moves back. Which is a huge mistake because as soon as the knee is gone Jack lunges forward with an unprecedented agility a man his age really shouldn’t be able to achieve.

Hanzo shrieks in a totally undignified manner and promptly uses Jesse as a human shield.

Gabriel manages to grab the ankle and Jack, in a completely unrelated (but also totally undignified) manner, faceplants into the floor.

“This will make a perfect home movie,” Sombra sniggers, tapping her phone. “Since I can smell food burning, I’m ordering pizza for everyone.”

Half an hour later they are all seated around the table and Hanzo won’t admit even to himself that the whole time he was very carefully positioning himself so that there was always someone or something inconvenient enough between him and Jack. Jesse holding his hand under the table is not really reassuring in this particular situation.

“So, no-one is going to kill anyone,” Gabriel nods, keeping his arm securely (and strategically) around Jack’s waist, and Jack, keeping a handkerchief to his nose, growls. “How did the two of you meet?”

“Gay bar,” Sombra answers before Jesse has time to make something up. “I had to slip Hanzo the number ‘cos the cowboy here was too chickenshit.”

“Was not!”

“You were making googly-eyes for three months. And whining every waking hour. And writing purple prose in your diary.”

“Could you, for once, stop reading my diary?”

“I need to keep tabs on you somehow. You took to ‘accidentally’ losing my trackers.”

“Fair point. But…”

“And then they just kicked off, moved into the same dorm next month, though I can’t imagine how one could be desperate enough to have sex with a guy that unironically owns and wears ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ shirt.”

“Hey, I don’t go around criticizing your fashion choices!”

“Because there is nothing to criticize, my fashion is flawless.”

Hanzo, currently sporting a healthy blush and trying to disappear into the couch, is reconsidering his life choices very seriously. The promised death that still looms over his head looks at least a little bit inviting right now.

“So, uh,” Jesse bites his lip for a moment, “Hanzo’s my boyfriend for a year now, and, wanted to make it, kinda, official?”

“Personally, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Gabriel nods lightly, “but I suppose you know better, Jesse.” It is at this moment that Jack stands up, and angrily stomps up the stairs, throwing the bloodied handkerchief away on the floor. Gabriel sighs. “I’ll deal with it. And your old rooms are ready,” he adds, following Jack.

“Well, that went much better than expected,” Sombra muses looking for something in her purse. She passes Jesse two pairs of earplugs. “Symm’s going to pick me up in five, don’t wait for me.”

Around three o’clock in the morning Hanzo decides the earplugs are definitely not helping, nor does the general anxiety of being under the same roof with a person who, with a bone-chilling pleasant bloodied smile, promised to kill him next time they see him. He elbows snoring Jesse.

“Honestly, how old are they?”

“Uh… forty-nine, almost fifty.”

“Buddha Amida, how can you even sleep now?”

“Hunny, that’s a lotsa practice and pretty deep comfortable denial.”


	4. Said and Done - Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to be a Halloween Special for Said and Done but got scrapped. Actually, it was supposed to explain half the reason for all the Smurf references.

Jesse was just putting the finishing touches to his grilled salmon with mango – and the mango was indeed looking fine – when he heard an unmistakable sound of sneaking.

“If ya here for my food, feck off!”

“Tch. No,” Genji sauntered closer. “I just want to borrow five hundred. It’s crucial to my well-being.”

“Okay, wait fer sec, I gonna get my wallet…”

“No need, helped myself already.”

Jesse turned around waving the tongs in the air.

“So why do you bother asking?”

“Human decency,” Genji shrugged and adjusted the strap of his golf club bag. Jesse narrowed his eyes at him because there was something bothering him about the whole thing…

“Dude, are you wearing my pants again?”

“Might be,” Genji nodded, sneaking a piece of salmon from the plate and avoiding the swat by the tongs.

“Feck off, make your own! And… you going somewhere again?”

“Flying cargo to meet up with my therapist.”

“Why?”

“’Tis a Halloween season,” Genji stared at him with a ‘duh’ expression like that was supposed to explain everything. Jesse’s face clearly presented the challenge of incomprehension. “You know…” He made a gesture with his finger and an unmistakable sound of a camera shutter resonated in the kitchen.

“Dude… ew! You just had to remind me!?”

“Yep.”

“Dude, you really think,” Jesse gesticulated with the tongs, “they are going to try anything right now with the whole hush-hush thing?”

“Jesse,” younger Shimada stared at him blankly, “you know them. They are.”

“Heck, you might be right. Time to get blackout drunk and hibernate. By the way, why hadn’t you asked Angie or someone else to, like, dunno, disable the camera sound?”

“…it’s hardwired into software. Ja ne!”

“Dude, but leave my wallet! My lucky condom’s in there!”

“Ew,” Genji called empathically from the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole planned thing had this little dialogue bit:  
> "...permission to get blackout drunk, Commander?"  
> "...permission granted."


	5. Awkward Doesn't Cut It - R76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marital Problems.

The kids are away, pursuing higher education between moonlighting as Hackerbelle and Joel High-Noon, and dating emotionally constipated Vishkar president and runaway League-of-Assassins-thing assassin.

Living together has its ups and downs, and sometimes the little irritations in life as a couple just build up until they blow up in an epic row. The stuff of legends. Happens once in a while to the best of us. Not to mention the Empty Nest Syndrome.

Jack gets ‘some’ of his stuff (it’s his house, by the way, because he was quite adamantly not going to move just to have a longer commute to his regular day job) and blows the joint.

When Strike Commander is once again involved in villainous enterprises everyone has a pretty awkward time because the betting pool is still on and while this particular outcome was not bet on by anyone, there is still a question who will be left standing in the aftermath. Besides, let Reaper deal with his own marital problems, uh-huh, right, better don’t open this can of worms.

After around two weeks of perfectly executed heists (and just after both of the kids threatened to come back to act as mediators) this confrontation happens, Jack with his current villainous associates just finishing the job ambushed by Reaper. Mexican stand-off style.

“Could you fucking stop this nonsense?” Gabriel asks.

“Oh, when I’m the one doing that, it’s a nonsense, good to know!”

“You are overreacting!”

“I am not overreacting! This is a perfectly prudent reaction!”

This is at this point that the whole villain group starts to notice something is certainly not right.

“Yes, you are. Just come home,” Gabriel hisses behind his mask.

“To the dirty dishes in the sink?”

“That was only...” Gabriel sighs. Okay. That was not that only time. “I will try to remember. But your…”

“Uh, listen, guys,” one of the goons tries to interrupt but Jack turns around and shoots him. “You shot me in the leg! You fucking shot me in the leg!”

“Because no-one asked for your input. Besides, you still have the other one,” Jack, exasperated, turns back to Reaper. “My what?”

“Your papers are everywhere!” Gabriel finishes.

“I was grading them!”

Yep, Mexican stand-off. Gabriel takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“And you think that you being sorry is enough? That it’s going to be that easy?”

“And I got us reservations at Le Chat Noir.”

“I truly, madly, with a passion,” Jack starts after a longer pause, ”despise those rare moments when you happen to be right.” He then turns around and shoots the other goons non-lethally. “What time?”

“In an hour.”

“Pretty full of yourself?”

“I know you.”

“And the house?”

“…spotless.”

Well, the dinner is really nice after that.


	6. Awkward Doesn't Cut It - R76, McHanzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babysitting.

Jesse and Hanzo adopt a kid. Like, a toddler. It’s hard. You can only wake up during one night so many times.

Jesse gets the brilliant idea to go on a week-long vacation and dump the kid on parents. Hanzo is very skeptical. I mean, okay, his husband is an investigative reporter slash popular culinary blogger moonlighting as a stupid-ass hero, and he himself is a former (usually) assassin, BUT those two are certifiably bonkers. Jesse raises a point: ‘ya know, hunny, that’s gonna be six nights of full eight hours, or more, of sleep’. Hanzo is like: YES, SATAN, WHERE DO I SIGN?

So they drop the kid off.

Hanzo really tries not to think about everything that could go wrong.

Everything goes wrong – but only by accident and unfortunate coincidences.

After the first – considerably sleepless night – Gabriel gets a call.

“When you get back, be sure to walk on gravel paths.”

“Why?”

“Havratils sold their place and moved out. I activated the perimeter defenses.”

Gabriel decides he’s not even going to ask. He makes sure not to walk over the lawn coming back from his work meeting. He notices there’s a moving van next to Havratils’ place. The evening is pretty nice. The night, not so much, especially when Jack just puts in the earplugs and announces it is Gabriel’s turn to pacify the kid.

In the morning, Gabriel decides he really needs a drink (it’s morning, he settles for a beer on the porch), and is halfway through the bottle when the neighbor’s dog, dubbed The Shitter, comes running. Evidently, to shit on their lawn again.

Then, there’s a loud boom, and when the dust settles, there’s a considerable blast crater, and the dog is nowhere to be seen. Gabriel is pretty amazed, truth be told, that the beast lasted that long and Jack had not personally ‘eliminated’ it long before.

“We have landmines under our lawn?” He asks, looking inside, where Jack is in the middle of feeding the little screamer with a bottle.

“That’s my lawn, and yes, we do.”

“Good to know. Anything else?”

“Automatic turret under the bird feeder.”

Third night in is wonderful. It’s his turn with the earplugs.

In the afternoon the new neighbors come to say hi and bring a cake. They do not look like a family, and their acting is on par with a wooden log. As soon as they leave, Gabriel chucks the cake into the trash.

“I think Talon moved in on the other side of the street.”

“That’s why I activated the defenses,” Jack looks at him like he’s stupid.

One of the ‘kids’ (that actually looks at least 25 years old) is bicycling on the street for the whole afternoon.

The fourth night is a nightmare. Especially when Jack literally kicks him out of the bed because not even the crying is able to wake him up.

When he comes back from his meeting, the baby is lying close to computer that… seems… to be vacuuming. Or at least sounds like it. And the kid is quiet.

“What even is this?”

“He likes the noise. That reminds me, avoid the tool shed. There’s a jumpy rapid response team inside.”

“…why?”

“They’re surveilling the Talon neighbors. Wanted to set up the shop in the living room but I kicked them out.”

After the dinner, Gabriel goes to check. He will never figure out how the whole SWAT team managed to fit themselves and their equipment into the damn tool shed. After several awkward and tense seconds, he closes the door. He’s not going to dwell on it.

The night is awful. The kid is quiet, it’s Jack’s turn anyway, but the earplugs don’t cancel the noise, and Gabriel dreams about vacuum cleaners chasing him. It’s not pleasant.

The next day, the shit hits the fan. Talon family tries to advance, one of them gets blown up on a mine, SWAT team manages to get out of the shed (although with some considerable problems, Jack certainly is going to bill them for all the repairs, on principle). Automatic turret does what it does the best – local population of pigeons undergoes culling.

They spend the last night watching the tv with the kid between them on the sofa. It’s kind of romantic, even if the kid drools on everything.

Hanzo fears the worst when, on the way to pick up their child, he and Jesse pass by two burned to the ground houses and another one halfway blown up (now being rebuilt by shady looking contractors). There are blast craters on the lawn (Jesse tells him to not stray from the gravel path) and several remains of some birds around the bird feeder.

“Oh no, he was a real angel,” Jack assures, handing the toddler and all his things back. As soon as the door closes behind the two, he adds: “If that angel were a spawn of Satan.”

Gabriel doesn’t really disagree.

“No, we’re not asking, not about anything,” Jesse sums up the whole experience while closing the trunk of their car. “It actually kinda looks tame for them.”


	7. A Date with Death - R76

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you have a near-death experience, it’s exactly what it sounds like. Death comes to your deathbed to take you to the afterlife, but you beg the immortal being to let you live. Reluctantly, Death agrees, but it comes at a price. Every time you reach a moment where you should have died, you officially owe Death one date. This is your 18th date, explain how the conversation goes.
> 
> Prompt: https://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/174305639187/when-you-have-a-near-death-experience-its

The first time it happened he had slipped on fucking water his bastard of a dog spilled when he overturned his water bowl while excitedly jumping around in wait for his overdue meal.

Jack stood over his own body with a cross expression on his slightly translucent face.

“Okay, I get it, but, man, look at this from my point of view, I’ll be a laughing stock. Or rather, the laughing stock. I’ll be the one hitman that slipped on a wet floor and brained himself on the counter,” absentmindedly, he tried to get some of the chunky dogfood off his chest with his immaterial foot still clad in an immaterial flip-flop.

“This is the order of all things,” the dark figure replied with a hint of ‘I’ve done this too many times now’.

“Can we, like, bargain a bit?” That earned him a slow smoldering look of aggravation. At least, that’s what he supposed it was, what’s with the mask and two red glaring points visible in the eyeholes. “I mean, say, a date? I’ll treat you. I’m told I make killer drinks. Metaphorically. Okay,” Jack corrected himself, “sometimes literally. So?”

There was a long lingering pause.

“I’m going to regret this,” came with a suffering sigh.

“That’s a yes… then… fuck, my head,” Jack muttered, opening his eyes. Wilford yelped and licked his lips, then moved to the food liberally applied to his shirt. The most immediate item on the agenda was nailing the damn bowl to the floor.

The second time it had happened it was a drive-by shooting, and he wasn’t even the target. Insult to injury, it had been a perfect headshot.

“How do you feel about homemade broccoli lasagna? I can whip it out in time for a late dinner?”

The seventeenth time was easy to blame, again, on Wilford, who knocked a radio into his bathtub because there was a snack on the other side of it (‘completely by accident’ as he claimed). Which directly led to this: Jack standing in his kitchen in a metal drum filled to the brim with water with a plugged-in toaster in his hands.

With determination, he turned the toaster on, waited around ten seconds, and then dropped it.

“Really? If you’re feeling suicidal, I know some good therapists that owe me a favor. Or we could change our arrangement,” Gabriel raised one eyebrow while tapping his foot lightly.

Jack slowly clambered out of the barrel and with some regret noted his preparations were not exactly adequate – of course, the rubber mat had saved his parquet from scorching – but he forgot to account for his own weight, and now had his kitchen flooded with the water from the flipped-over drum.

And, considering the neighborhood’s panorama visible out of his window, he had managed to knock the electricity out for at least one block. Good that he had decided to invest in candles.

“Suicidal, right,” Jack muttered while climbing to his feet and trying to get at least some water out of his clothes. “Yeah, that rearrange the arrangement thing might come in handy.”

“So?”

“So I mean, the dinner’s ready,” Jack gestured towards the living room lit by a liberal application of candles to the most of the flat surfaces. Gabriel stood in place with his head quizzically leaning to the side. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Jack strode forward, grabbed his shirt, and kissed him.

One would think the Death would get a clue sooner.


	8. Said and Done - R76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “The difference between me and [Hero],” says the vigilante “is [Hero] has never distracted someone by throwing a decapitated head at them.”
> 
> https://corvidprompts.tumblr.com/post/173268468177/the-difference-between-me-and-hero-says-the
> 
> *
> 
> The Oompa Loompa Incident is referenced, I believe, in chapter 2.

“Him and you,” Sombra grumbled, “I retract my words, you’re both batshit crazy, and you definitely deserve each other.”

“At least I’d never distracted enemy by throwing a decapitated head at them,” Gabriel realized a tad too late the grave tactical error on his side when Sombra went silent, and still, for a second too long.

“Now that’s a tale I need to hear!”

“Nope.”

“Or I’ll tell the old fart about the boyfriends!”

“Sorted it out.”

“What? Really? But you’re still alive… Well, in a manner of… but not deader than usual?”

“Drop it.”

“I’ll make Toblerone’s turrets dance AND sing this time!”

“For the last time, his name isn’t…”

“Oompa Loompa song,” Sombra wriggled her eyebrows suggestively. The offer was tempting, if only to see Jack’s temper tantrum about the incident directed at someone else than him (and at least Jack had the decency to know any time the Oompa Loompa thing got brought up it was never in a positive light). They were getting too chummy for his liking anyway.

Gabriel sighed deeply and prepared himself mentally to recall the deeply traumatic events in question.

 

*

 

If there was ever one constant – one and only constant in the whole of the known universe – it was the simple fact the whole universe itself hated Gabriel Reyes with a passion for reasons unknown. For example, right now, he was pinned behind a diminishing under the fire of two bastions and three ORs cover.

“Mom, backup needed,” Gabriel grunted while sliding even lower.

“Negative, no line of sight. Coming with Charming and Toblerone, contact at five minimum.”

“And Liao?”

“He’s somewhere,” Ana breathed out an exasperated sigh. “Brat?”

“I don’t have five, shit,” Gabriel swore when a piece of cement almost hit him in the eye. “He’s somewhe…”

“Did I hear someone calling for backup?” Jack definitely sounded too cheerful. Far too cheerful for comfort. The kind of serene cheerful that came with a tanker full of hurt and harm.

“No, Jackie, whatever it’s you’re planning, it’s not a good idea!”

“Don’t ‘Jackie’ me when I’m saving your arse.”

“Okay,” Ana, obviously trying to camouflage her laughter, huffed on the line. “We’ll try to get to you in three.”

“I got this under control, mommy, no rush.”

With a growing feeling of existential dread, Gabriel noticed a swath of blue coming in close to the ground at the edge of his field of view to the left. Well, it was not as bad as he expected, only… wait… Jack was running, holding his pulse rifle with both hands, that was right, only he held it like a club ready to swing upwards from behind, and…

“Jackie, baby, for fuck’s sake, this WON’T WORK!” Gabriel screamed as Jack suddenly halted, braced himself, and then swung the rifle like a golf club.

“Fore!”

The barrel made contact with a random omnic head lying on the ground and punted it into the air in a beautiful high arc.

Said omnic head was somehow still functional and gave out a terrifying electronic screech.

Both bastions and ORs automatically targeted it.

Jack expertly rotated the rifle in his hands and begun firing.

Yes, this one thing was sure, Gabriel thought as he glimpsed out of his cover to inspect the wreckage. The universe hated him unilaterally. Period. No questions asked.

He looked back to Jack who now stood triumphantly while leaning haphazardly on the butt of the rifle.

“See?”

This exact moment was chosen by one of the destroyed bastion units to explode cinematically in the background. A large chunk of its armor plating pelted Jack in the side of his head and dropped him to the ground immediately.

“Mom. I think we need medvac.”

“Nah. Brat’s head’s still attached,” Ana snickered on the comm.

 

*

 

“…Grumps, you’re shitting me, right?” Sombra sat with her hands in the air, her voice somewhere between scandalized and incredulous. Gabriel almost felt a glimmer of a possibility for sympathizing with her. He decided against it.

“I asked him how many fingers I’m holding up. He answered, and I’m quoting here, ‘a handful’.”

“Oompa Loompa song it is.”


	9. We Need to Talk Times Three - Angels and Demons AU - R76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack has absolutely no grip on his life. Continuation of chapter 1.

In the time when the Creation was all new, and crispy, and shiny, and many more things related to freshness, the Angel of Death cornered the Angel of War in one of the many corridors of the White City.

“We need to talk.”

Long story short, that’s exactly how the whole embarrassing deal about the War in Heaven, and the subsequent Fall, started – even if the two of them kept mum on the subject out of some kind of ill-conceived solidarity (or sheer shame).

No, neither the Bratwurst, nor the Currywurst, as it is according to the Ancient Texts, were the reason for the schism. But they did come pretty damn close.

*

Jack awoke to a pounding headache that usually told a story of a good night of fun, and stretched tiredly. Of course, the bed was empty save for the strange amount of large feathers with a grayish tint to their sides. Had he, in his drunken stupor, ploughed a fucking swan, or something?

After some deliberation, he sat up and scratched his slightly itching left asscheek. Then he tiredly plodded to the bathroom. It was a time for a nice long bath, and maybe to try remember what actually went down during his last bender with a help from some nicely scented candles.

And as he finally reached his lavish bathroom, he was greeted with a welcome sight of a drawn bath with a moderate amount of bubbles and, most importantly, the candles. The scent was already doing wonders for his headache.

What was, on the other hand, working against him, was the realization he had made the gravest mistake any drunk might commit in their life. His ex. Or, rather, the Ex.

Slowly, Jack closed the door, counted to hundred under his breath in the vain hope his brain was playing an exceptionally vicious prank on him, and peeked inside again. Nope. Still there.

With a deep sigh he sauntered into the bathroom and without much ado lowered himself into the hot water on the opposite side of the tub. The silence was definitively much more oppressive than any silence had any right to be. Jack cleared his throat and sheepishly glared at Gabriel.

“In my defense, I was drunk.”

“We need to talk,” the Angel of Death stated while making himself even more comfortable.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, and no. The last time this exact sentence had been uttered between the two of them, the whole deal with the Fall from Grace thing happened.

“I’m far too sober for that,” Jack muttered pawing desperately around the bath for something to drink, and, to his surprise, finding an almost full bottle of quality Ambrosia.

And this was the short story of how they got a nice house in suburbia, a real ‘white picket fence’ deal, though the whole package came with a melodramatic incubus and a homicidal Nephilim in the long run. How exactly did that last one happen, Jack was not sure he ever wanted to know.

*

Jack lounged on the couch relishing his vintage whiskey on the rocks (made with real holy water blessed by the Pope himself because Sombra seemingly never grew tired of trying to kill him – the taste was a little more tangy than usual but not bad at all) and paid nominal attention to the dramatic reveal in the telenovela playing on the tv. Jesse, on the other hand, was clutching a decorative pillow to his chest and bawling his eyes out because, as Jack gathered from his nigh incomprehensible mumblings, it reminded him of that one demon.

Gabriel wandered into his line of sight.

“We need to talk.”

Jack carefully put the glass back on the table. The phrase was dangerous and triggered serious PTSD flashbacks. The first time, there was this whole War in Heaven. The second time, came suburbia. So he grabbed the bottle itself and chugged it whole in one go while keeping the index finger of his left hand in the air.

“Wait ten minutes, I’ll be drunk enough then.”

This was the short story of how Satan herself with a festive black lace eyepatch on and a mischievous glint in her other eye, walked him down the aisle. Sombra held the rings and Jesse, of course, cried. That was the only thing he reliably ever did.

The ring gave him a rather strange rash – she had covered it with a thin layer of sanctified silver. Goddamn allergies.


	10. Untitled - R76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from PF: general fantasy, sorcerer & summoned demon. SO. I have a thing for mistakes in spells, rituals, and stuff.

The demon, imprisoned inside the magic circle, squinted quizzically while looking out through the tower’s window.

“Taking into the account the situation outside, I’m going to wager a guess you didn’t want to summon an incubus, so I’ll go easy on the horny warlock jokes.”

“That’s impossible…” Gabriel frantically started to leaf through the book in his hands.

“You made a spelling mistake,” the demon cut in curtly and pointed with his foot to a certain part of the magic circle. “Happens all the time. Or so I’m told. Usually when the wife catches on. Or the stuff. And stuff,” the demon trailed off, yet again slightly distracted by the spectacle outside. “Oh, wow. That’s a nice trebuchet. With a flaming… If I were you, I’d duck just about now.”

True to the demon’s words, a giant rock on fire literally shaved off the whole upper level of the tower, just inches above Gabriel’s head.

“Let’s talk the terms, then,” the demon smiled showing off his tad too pointed teeth.

“You’re bound to my will, there are no terms,” Gabriel spat, and the unnerving smile he was faced with only grew wider as the demon casually stepped out of the circle.

“You were saying?”

“Fuck.”

“Deal. And your spelling is atrocious, we should work on it later,” the demon nodded solemnly and unfurled his wings. “I’m guessing that’s the invading army or something, right? I’m really not up to date on the current geopolitical climate up here, so… Name’s Jack, by the way,” and with that, he was gone in a puff of smoke.

Gabriel stood frozen in place. Nothing was going as it was supposed to, and he was left wondering what the hell did just happen. At least he was wondering until the loud boom and magical explosion that enveloped most of the abandoned hamlet below knocked him out of the stupor. His friends were down there!

*

“Oh, so, you all, you are on a quest, like, all heroic and shit?” Jack leaned back against a rock. Without horns and wings, he looked almost like an ordinary human, if the ‘ordinary human’ included above the average looks, pointed teeth, eyes so blue there was no way the color was natural, and an outfit that would blend in perfectly in a very high-class brothel – but blend in nonetheless. “Cool.”

“What is it still doing here?” Ana hissed.

“I have no idea!” Gabriel hissed back.

“Hey, like, this ‘it’ has ears and can hear you both perfectly, and he,” Jack pointed at Gabriel, “can’t spell shit.”

“I majored in destruction and blood magic, demon summoning was an elective!”

“It’s no excuse for the number of mistakes made, you know,” Jack shrugged. “So, the quest?”

“We are traveling, as is prophesized, to the Northern Marches to the Temple of Doom to stop the nefarious plot by Doomfist to enslave the world!”

Gabriel and Ana both glared at Reinhardt who just blurted out to a demon they were going to kill another demon.

“Eh, I know the guy, real slimy type, and if I ever get my hands on him,” Jack’s expression steadily grew darker and darker, “I’m going to rip his spine out and light his intestines on fire, and then I’ll have some real fun.”

The demonic laughter that followed set everyone on the edge.

“I take it,” Gabriel stated carefully, “there’s some history?”

“Oh,” Jacks face returned to what passed for ‘normal’ for him. ”Not really. He’s my ex. I mean, there’s not a lot of dating options in the realms below if you’re not into the whole unholy abomination look. And while we are on that subject, let’s do something about my payment, right?”

“Absolutely not!” Gabriel leaned away as the demon slinked closer with catlike grace.

“You offered!”

“You took it out of the context!”

“Eh. It will take you months to get to the Temple of Doom, and I got time, you’ll change your mind yet,” Jack wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“No, I won’t, and you are dismissed! De-summoned!”

“I don’t think so, Gabe,” Jack answered in a sing-song voice.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Ana whispered when Gabriel lunged at the demon who giggled at his attempts to strangle him.

She went for Torbjörn’s stash to knock herself out.


	11. Said and Done - R76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The edgiest edgelord on Earth just got the Dragon Balls.  
> https://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/182610197437/the-edgiest-edgelord-on-earth-just-got-the-dragon  
> (incidentally, one of the first entries is something like 'and that's how Reaper got infinite shotguns)

Cosplaying, on the whole, was pretty easy if it only involved throwing whatever you had on hand on top of your actual work clothes to make them look just a bit less professional. In the end, the pink and yellow apron sprinkled with various Gudetama designs was definitely not helping Jack’s mood when he stood cumbered down with six bags chock-full of assorted goodies while waiting for those two fuckers currently on the prowl for more prizes.

Seriously, fuck conventions.

“Look, Jackie, what I got,” Gabriel, wearing kitty ears on top of his hood, presented the clear bag holding inside seven spheres with holographic starts that always remained oriented right.

“I want a second divorce,” Jack deadpanned.


End file.
